


Myrtus Communis

by moonflowers



Category: Black Sails
Genre: But it's platonic - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Missing Scene, Missing week really, Obviously Thomas and Miranda are married, POV Alternating, So I can talk about how pretty they both are, Swimming, and there's no all three of them at once, basically just the three of them frolicking in the countryside, horse riding, so soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-10-31 21:36:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10907925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonflowers/pseuds/moonflowers
Summary: Before leaving on his three month trip to Nassau, James is invited to spend a few days at the Hamilton's country house by Thomas and Miranda.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here we go, first proper fic for the second James and Thomas to ruin my life. And also my 60th fic on AO3 overall, aww.  
> There will inevitably be some historical inaccuracy and messing up the timeline, sorry bout it. And it probably needs another read through, but I have to go to sleep.

"What do you make of it?" Thomas said as the carriage rolled along the drive closer to the great house that came with the title of Earl of Ashbourne.

James gave it a moment's consideration, reluctant to flippantly dismiss it as yet another large and unnecessary status symbol the gentry were so partial to - though admittedly this was his first thought - and also unwilling to simper and pay the rather dour looking house a compliment that wasn't sincere. He knew the Hamiltons well enough by now that they would not expect the latter of him in any case, manners be damned. "It's rather imposing," he settled on in the end, "perhaps a little more bleak than I imagined."

"I thought the very same thing when I first set eyes upon it," said Miranda, in good humour despite the long journey, the grey day, and the dark house looming before them at the end of the drive, "though I don't believe I relayed my opinion quite so politely."

Thomas laughed softly and took her hand. "No my love, I don't believe you did."

When it had been decided by Thomas and Miranda that they should take James to visit the Hamilton family's country house for a time before he set off for Nassau, he had to admit he'd pictured a building rather prettier than the one they were drawing close to. Imposing was indeed the right word - the front gates were wrought iron standing stark against the pale sky behind them, flanked by stone pillars each with a hart rearing atop it. The gates themselves were locked and shut firm though, and the carriage continued around to the back of the house, where he'd been told they would most likely be greeted by few staff and with little ceremony, thank God. The house was built of dark stone, squat and square, with tall chimneys and a large, arched entryway. A majority of the many-paned windows were shuttered - Thomas' father hadn't even deigned it necessary to open up the house entire for them. Though it was little wonder really, and in all honesty James preferred it that way. The less spectacle their visit caused, the better. As appealing as the idea of spending so much time alone with his two lovers was, the countryside and it's great houses were unfamiliar territory to him, grown used to life at sea and the bustling coastal towns they made port at. 

"The gardens are what makes it," Miranda said, clearly having noticed his expression of distaste, "personally I find the house itself a little restricting. When we spoke of the few pleasant visits Thomas and I have had here since we married, I confess a majority of them were made so by time spent in the grounds, rather than within the walls."

"She's right, as ever. The house itself holds few happy memories for me, that I'll admit," Thomas said with a grim look which James assumed alluded to growing up with Lord Hamilton as a father. "But I do enjoy the gardens."

"I never took you for a great lover of nature, my lord," James said, unable to resist teasing him. 

"I would say the same of you," said Thomas with a smile, "and yet I wager you will leave this place with a fondness for them all the same."

 

~

 

The day remained stubbornly grey and dreary after they arrived, so it was decided not to venture out into the famed gardens. Instead, Thomas and Miranda gave James a tour of the rooms they'd be using during their stay, the dining room, drawing room and such, so he could get his bearings. And lastly, the rather decadent bedroom - or decadent compared to what he was used to, next to Thomas and Miranda's rooms, it appeared quite plain - allocated to him for the duration. Though it mattered little what the room was like; the three of them were well aware he wouldn't be spending an awful lot of time in it. 

After dinner, served by a sour-faced young footman who spent an improper length of time during the meal staring with poorly concealed interest at Miranda, much to the latter's amusement and James' irritation, Thomas withdrew to his study. As they'd discussed during the journey, he had a few letters in need of answering promptly before he could commit fully to enjoying their stay in the country. He claimed he was keen to see to them before concentrating on - here he'd looked across the table to meet James' eye - "more pleasurable pursuits."

"Well," said Miranda once Thomas had reluctantly left the dining room and the boy was looking twitchy, wanting to clear the table and get his evening's work done with as quickly as possible, "just you and me then, lieutenant."

He inclined his head. "It seems that way, my lady."

"I don't believe we quite finished your grand tour of the house earlier," she looked at him conspiratorially over the top of her wine glass, "if you would care to accompany me."

"I'd be honoured, my lady."

With that, she whisked him off to show him around the rooms Thomas' father hadn't ordered opened up for their stay, still shuttered and covered by dust sheets in readiness for when Lord Hamilton himself chose to visit. They were all much the same; unnecessarily large and decorated in far too gilded and gaudy a manner for James' taste, unused and unloved. But there was a thrill in it all the same, with Miranda's warm hand in his as she pulled him from room to room, whispering in his ear what they were used for, pulling him close to her, backs against the fine wall coverings as she pressed deep but fleeting kisses to his mouth, warm with the sweet wine she'd drunk after dinner.

It wasn't long though, before it inevitably became something more, Miranda's proximity ever heady and intoxicating. They were in one of the many still darkened rooms, Miranda pressed back against a bookcase, hands clenched in the dust sheet covering it as James kissed along her collar bone, further down to the curve of her chest. With a little huff of impatience, Miranda reached down to hitch up her skirt. In doing so, James' concentration was broken long enough for him to hear something out in the corridor - a quick, shuffling set of footsteps. Carelessly, they'd left the door open, the dull orange glow of the light held by whoever was approaching slowly illuminating the hall as they came closer. In moving, it was likely they'd draw more attention to themselves, so they remained still, attempting to keep their heightened breath quiet. James could feel Miranda was trying to suppress her laughter, and shot her a stern look in an attempt to quieten her, but it only made her shudder against him in mirth all the more. Fortunately, the servant continued to scurry past on whatever errand they were conducting and paid no mind to the open door and the two figures hiding in the gloom behind it. 

"Well," Miranda recovered from her chuckling and dropped her skirts back down, gently patting James' chest, "that was an adventure."

"Not quite the word I'd use," James said stiffly, still looking over his shoulder at the door.

"No harm done," she said cheerfully, stepping around James and away from the wall to properly smooth out her dress.

"Not this time, no." It might not have been too disastrous if they had been seen, given the whispers about Miranda's reputation that had followed her from town, and that the staff already no doubt gossiped over among themselves. But it still would have been highly inconvenient for it to be confirmed, and throw all they'd achieved so far into question - if people were to discover their affair, a way would certainly be found to use it against them politically. But if it were James and Thomas caught in such a way... it would have been an utter disaster. The staff in the Hamilton's London home were one thing, most more loyal to Thomas than to his father, but those in the country house, an unknown quantity and likely to be in Lord Hamilton's pocket, could prove dangerous. 

"Perhaps we ought to go and say goodnight to Thomas," Miranda said, held out her arm for James to take, "before we're interrupted again." 

He took it, and they made their way more sedately back through the closed up rooms to the part of the house they were supposed to be in, well lit and more inviting than the rooms left to gather dust in the dark. Knowing Thomas, it was unquestionable that he'd still be in the study, and not yet retired to bed. Miranda knocked lightly on the door, and entered without waiting for an answer. Thomas was indeed still working, though he'd removed his neck cloth and his sleeves were pushed back to his elbows where he sat behind his desk, surrounded by papers. 

"I hope the two of you have had a more productive evening than I," he said by way of greeting, looking tired, but pleased to see them. 

"You might say that," Miranda said, smiling that dangerous twinkling smile of hers, the one that meant either she had thoroughly enjoyed something, or was just about to. "The lieutenant and I were almost caught in the throes of passion," she whispered theatrically, and James fought not to roll his eyes.

"That sounds terribly exciting," Thomas said, with an impish grin to match his wife's, "I'm sad to have missed it."

"How either of you fail to see how serious a misstep it might have been is beyond me," James said, though he felt the corner of his mouth trying to quirk up in a smile, their good humour infectious, "if any of us were to be caught..." he didn't bother finishing; the implications were clear. 

"You're right, of course you are," Miranda said, taking his elbow again with a gentle squeeze. "However did we manage without you to temper us, dear lieutenant?"

"I don't believe we were in quite such dire need of tempering, before you came," said Thomas wryly. 

"Not _you_ perhaps, husband," Miranda said and Thomas laughed, loud and honest, and James felt his breath catch. "But your point is taken, lieutenant. We shall be more careful."

He nodded, shoulders relaxing slightly. "Thank you." He hadn't noticed how tense he'd become, until that moment.

"Perhaps we might spend a little more of our stay here in the gardens than in the house, if that's agreeable to you," Thomas suggested. "If the weather stays fine, it would be a shame to spend our time here shut away. With the added incentive of their being fewer servants lurking in the hedgerows than in the halls."

James snorted and shook his head. "Yes, my lord."

"That's settled then," Miranda said, and moved around the edge of the desk, skirts rustling, to press a kiss to Thomas's head. "What with all that excitement, you must excuse me if I retire." Thomas clasped her hand briefly, before she moved back over to kiss James, a soft and quick press against his lips. "I shall see you both in the morning," she added meaningfully, and left, the room still sweet with her perfume. 

"Would you perhaps sit with me a while longer?" Thomas said. "There's a few things I'd like your opinion on before I pen a reply." 

"Of course," James said without a second thought. Their work together would always take priority, despite being given some breathing space away from London and it's whispers. Things were gathering momentum and they couldn't afford to lose sight of their goal, now as much as ever, but when James left for Nassau in a week's time, he'd be gone for months, and damned if he wasn't going to make the most of his limited time with Thomas and Miranda before the day came.

He moved to stand closer to the desk. But Thomas rose, and instead went over to where a fire burned low in the grate, the house draughty even in spring, and sat down on the hearthrug before it, looking up at James expectantly. With a huff of amusement, James shed his coat and set it over the back of a chair, coming to kneel with Thomas before the fire. Satisfied, Thomas moved to lie down, head almost in James' lap as he began to rifle through the handful of papers he'd brought with him from the desk. When he'd located the one relevant, he read it aloud, one hand outstretched to absently play with James' fingers as they discussed it's content. If they never did anything more than just this; sat close, hands entwined, and simply talked the dark hours away, James liked to think he'd be content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright I know there was a fair bit of Miranda, and that's because I love her, but this will be focused mainly on James/Thomas, I promise. Not sure when the next part will be up, but probably soon, because I have no chill.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos on part one :)  
> The gardens in this fic will be wildly different from fashionable gardens of the time as we didn't even have most of the plants I mention in the UK yet at this point (most of them weren't grown over here until the mid 1700s apparently) but I'm drawing on a garden I visited a few weeks ago for inspiration and this is what I saw and wanted to write about so... just pretend.

James was used to stillness at sea, the smooth passage of a ship across calm waters, light salt air and not a soul other than those aboard for miles. But stillness inland was another creature entirely. It was deep and thick and green, an old and watchful stillness, a country formed of light and shade, heavy earth and impenetrable foliage that caught and muffled the sounds of birds and running water. He was undecided whether it was restful or whether it made him ill at ease, though he suspected it might be closer to the former if he weren't walking through it alone. The Hamiltons were both otherwise engaged; Miranda was seeing the cook about the meals for the week, and thanks to their interrupting him the night before and a long lie in that morning, Thomas still had a few personal matters to attend to. Since the weather was fair, James had taken their advice, and ventured out into the gardens. 

For all that the house of the Hamilton family looked stark and open and unsheltered, its grounds were another matter entirely. Taking a left out of the house as instructed, James passed through yet another set of stone harts that led onto a broad path. It was shaded by dark firs, their odd twisting limbs leading away from the reserved stiffness of the house proper and into gardens much more informal than he'd expected. A short distance along the path, he turned a corner, and looked back over his shoulder. The very top of the house was just visible through the trees, a corner of the roof with its windows firmly shuttered, and not a soul to be seen. It was the first time he'd felt truly unobserved since they'd arrived, and some of the tension he'd been carrying fell away. He only hoped the weather stayed fine, so that the three of them might spend more time, both business and pleasure, outside rather than in. 

 

~

 

"It's normally only used by the gamekeeper when he has need of it," Thomas said as they stepped into the small building partly hidden by trees halfway down the garden, and well out of the way of the house, "but it's mostly left to gather cobwebs."

"I see," James said, looking sceptically at the rough wood table and low bench, the grime on the windows, and aforementioned cobwebs hanging from the rafters. Admittedly, the small stove glowing in the corner cheered up the plain little room a great deal, but it was far from the dour grandeur of the house. "If that's the case, then might I ask why it is we're here?"

"That you may, my dear," said Thomas, closing the short distance between them in the blink of an eye, smiling as he tilted James' chin up to press a soft kiss to his top lip. "No servants."

"Ah," as was oftentimes the case, James was robbed of the ability to say anything more eloquent when in such close proximity to his lover. He found himself distracted and oddly focused all at once, in the presence of Thomas Hamilton.

"Come, sit," Thomas whirled away before James could stop him, leaving his arms outstretched around empty air. He bent to retrieve a bottle of something and two glasses from a small cupboard. "I believe this is one of the only rooms in the wretched place where we needn't stand on ceremony."

James had been about to argue that both Thomas' bedchamber and Miranda's were also exceptions, but it wouldn't be true - they were ever wary of servants on the stair and in the corridor, certain subjects could only be discussed in low voices, and every gasp or moan or shout had to be bitten back or muffled. "I was going to make a vulgar comment about how I find it difficult not to _stand on ceremony_ in your presence, but I shall pass up the opportunity with grace."

Thomas laughed and poured them both a generous measure, sitting opposite James at the table. "Good grief, James. I was going to suggest we drink to the progress we've made so far with our cause, but I suggest we drink to _that_ instead." 

James returned his smile and raised his glass. They drank, and he asked after the tasks Thomas had wanted to complete that afternoon, which led to further discussion of what was left to be done before James went back to sea, and what might need to be done after his return. It would depend, of course, on what awaited him in New Providence. 

"I'm told you spent the afternoon in the gardens," Thomas said a while later, when they'd drunk their fill and set matters of business aside.

"I did."

"And how did you find them?"

"Very agreeable," he said, thinking back to his surprisingly pleasant afternoon out of doors. It had grown hotter as he'd walked, and he'd sought shade under the masses of glossy leaved rhododendrons, taller than houses, clusters of large red blooms seeming unnaturally bright against the blue of the sky. "Though I didn't have the chance to explore all of it."

"Oh? Did you happen to see the bluebells?"

"Yes, actually." On impulse, he'd taken a sharp turn to the left along a twisting path that looked as though it saw little use, away from the unbearable heat of the flat and more easily navigable ornamental gardens. He'd found himself at the top of a wooded hill, in a shady expanse of bluebells and wild garlic, both sweet and pungent together, a mottled blue and white carpet under the gentle shade of ash and beech. He'd been unexpectedly reminded of the ocean: the ebb and shift of blue as a soft breeze caught the petals, insects diving between the flowers as fish in water. Though it was more sedate, more forgiving than any sea he had traversed could ever be. "Why do you ask?"

"It's one of my favourite parts of the grounds. I've always been able to think with a clear head up there." Thomas stood and moved around to the other side of the table, James shifting so he could sit next to him on the rough bench. He did so without pausing for thought, arm lifting of it's own accord to allow Thomas to slot into place underneath it, head on James' shoulder and arm draped over his lap. It made for a marvellous change, after the stuffy heat of the house and the watchful eyes of Alfred Hamilton's staff, to be able to sit as such, quiet and at peace, cool evening air drifting in as they looked out over the sweeping lawns and shrubbery, bursts of their pale pink flowers just visible in the dusk. 

"I fear Miranda will miss you terribly when you go."

James blinked down at him at the change of subject - it seemed an odd thing to say. "And I'll miss her. Why in particular?"

"Aside from the obvious," said Thomas, hand squeezing James' upper leg, thumb smoothing along the inside of his thigh. James could feel him smiling into his neck, face warm with the balmy evening and the drink. "She'll have to rein me in without your assistance. Well, I suppose there's Peter, but he tends to sigh and reach for the brandy if I'm being particularly difficult."

"I'm certain she can manage to keep you in check well enough without me." As she had done for the several years of their marriage before James had met them, no doubt, from the stories Miranda had told him.

"Yes, but I fear we've both grown rather dependant on you." James assumed it was said only half seriously, meant to tease, but it fell flat under the weight of the sincerity Thomas couldn't hide. "I can't help but feel that your absence will leave me... not incomplete, exactly. Just that knowing you has added something on to who I was before, and with you gone, I'll find myself missing the weight of that addition. Am I talking nonsense?"

"No." James was familiar with the sensation. He had never believed in the notion that one person was incomplete without another, but the fact remained that he was changed by Thomas Hamilton, and parting from him would make that change all the more evident. "No, I understand." He pressed a kiss into Thomas' hair, breathed him in. "Is that your way of saying that you'll miss me also?"

"Yes," Thomas said, straightening up. "Now let's go back indoors."

"Why?" James said, thrown by his abruptness. "I thought you were enjoying the privacy."

"I am," Thomas stood, smoothing out his clothes, "very much. But I can't very well have you on this table. We'd get the most dreadful splinters."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short, but...
> 
> Next part: horse riding and naked jumping in the pond. Who's excited? Me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tactical change to Thomas' PoV for the first half so I can talk about how pretty James is I'm not sorry.

"It's been a long time since I've had the need to ride a horse," James said as the three of them passed through the wide archway to the courtyard leading to the stables, "and even then it was likely not for pleasure."

"Me neither," Thomas said, "not with being so long in London." Though in all honesty, he'd never had much of an appetite for it, even when in the country - he'd sooner go for a walk or read out in the grounds somewhere. Yet another thing his father had always seemed to relish disparaging him for. 

"In that case," said Miranda, pulling on her riding gloves with a smart tug, "it's fortunate you've got me here to talk you into such things." She gave them both one last sparkling look over her shoulder before turning into the stables themselves, full of great, sleek hunters the Earl never saw and cared little for, but were bred in his name. 

"Whatever would we do without you," Thomas said, and let himself into the stable where his mount waited, a somewhat leggy dapple grey that, according to the stablemaster, had never amounted to much out hunting, but was reliable enough for a leisurely ride with a gentleman such as himself. The insinuation that Thomas wouldn't be up to handling a more difficult horse, he'd chosen to let slide without comment.

"That sounded dreadfully sarcastic Thomas," Miranda said from the stable next to his, taking her more spirited mount firmly in hand, "you're lucky I know you well enough to know better. It'll be good for the both of you to get out of that damned house and out of your own heads awhile." She paused, and her face grew more serious beneath the brim of her feathered riding hat, her voice lower, "he hasn't told you yet, has he." It wasn't a question.

"Not in so many words, no," they both looked across the stables to where James was murmuring to the dark gelding he'd been given, "but I don't need him to."

"Well he _does,"_ she said briskly, ensuring her horse's saddle was correctly positioned, "it is painfully clear, to me if not to the rest of the world."

"I know he does," Thomas said quietly, making a show of adjusting his stirrups, although they were no doubt fine as they were. He knew James, knew how to read between the quirks of his brow and twists of his mouth, between the things he did and didn't say out loud, and he knew James loved him. Words had always come easily to Thomas; he had told James he loved him countless times over the course of their knowing each other, sincerely and unthinkingly, bothered little by whether or not James could say it in return, because it was the truth. It was easy enough for him to read between what little James did say on the subject, and the actions that he let speak for him. "Whether he says it or not, even if he never says it, I know."

"Good," Miranda said, leading her horse out into the yard, "as long as you do."

 

Despite his misgivings, Thomas enjoyed the ride. It was freeing, he supposed, to have to think about nothing more than staying seated, the feel of the creature beneath him, the countryside going past them so fast he barely had the time to register the shape of it before they'd sped onward. As much as he loved his work, it's trials, the responsibility, problems thrown his way and the solutions he engineered, Miranda had been right - it was pleasant to cast all thought aside for a moment. For once he was content to follow, his horse going at a fractionally more sedate pace as he gave it its head and simply let it follow James and Miranda's mounts as the two of them raced. They tore across the fields, ducking under trees and splashing through fords, Miranda's skirts flying and clods of earth flung up behind them. 

By unspoken consent, it seemed the finish line was a large oak standing alone at the top of a hill, the three of them urging their horses on towards it with abandon. Miranda was the first to reach it, to nobody's surprise. They slowed to a halt underneath the oak's sprawling branches, the horses breathing hard and snorting, chests flecked with foam from their mouths. Both James' and Miranda's hair had come loose, the both of them flushed and bright eyed from the rush of their game. God, how he loved them. 

"What do I win?" Miranda said, dropping her reins to let the chestnut mare stretch out her neck, "for my victory."

"I'm certain the lieutenant and I can, between us, think of a fitting prize," Thomas said, slapping the neck of his mount in thanks before his eye inevitably strayed to James. "Don't you think he looks well astride a horse, my love?" he said to Miranda.

"Quite so," she said, catching on as quick as a hound on the scent, circling her horse around James' as if to admire him from every angle. "This outing was worth it for the sight alone."

James snorted in amusement and ducked his head to hide how his cheeks flushed darker, looking down to where his horse pawed at the ground. "The both of you are incorrigible."

Thomas laughed but said nothing more, still catching his breath and taking in the vision before him. They could not have picked a horse more suited to James - a big and thickly built gelding, coat black and shining where the sun glanced off his flanks, neck held proudly even as his rider let the reins go slack. A fine pair indeed. And as for James himself, well. He was a little breathless still, broad chest and shoulders rising and falling with each breath he took, but his chin up and back impeccably straight. It was hard to pull a man from the neatness of his Navy habits, it seemed. His legs gripped each side of the saddle, fabric of his breeches taut over the hard muscle of his thighs and hiding the freckled expanse beneath. Thomas' attention must have lingered there overlong, because when he looked up again, it was to find James watching him, face tinged pink and smirk lifting the corner of his mouth, loose strands of his hair lifting in the light wind. 

 

~

 

It was late afternoon when they returned to the house, hot and dishevelled, still plenty of daylight and hours before dinner. They led the horses back to the stables, handing them over to the lad waiting for them, who was scowling and skittish and couldn't seem to bring himself to meet James' eye. It was there they parted ways, Miranda going back inside to change and freshen up, but Thomas requested James walk with him a while before they followed. He agreed, and they spoke of nothing in particular as they walked, until James noticed they had wandered into a part of the garden he hadn't yet encountered, a steep sloping lawn with a pond at the bottom. 

"Where are you taking me?" James asked when the conversation fell to a natural lull.

Thomas smiled briefly, loosening his neck cloth as he spoke. "I thought you might care to see the water garden, since you hadn't made it this far on your solitary wanderings yet. It's cooler down here."

James' gaze slid down, watching his clever fingers unpick the knot. "Alright." Thomas had made stranger requests after all. 

When they reached the bottom of the garden, where presumably the ground was wettest, James saw that it was not one body of water, but in fact three ornamental pools, calm and still, seemingly empty of fish. They were hemmed in by gunnera and fern, and lithe trees in blossom, sprays of vibrant orange flowers with pointed petals. Two of the pools were fairly small and congested with plants at their edges, but the third was a good deal larger, and clear. It was then, as Thomas was reaching to unbutton his waistcoat, that James understood his purpose in bringing him there.

"It's safe here?" James said, casting his eye back in the direction of the house. He couldn't see it from their position, away up the hill and numerous thick trees and shrubs between them and it. That in itself was a relief. 

"Safer than anywhere else," Thomas said, sitting at the water's edge to pull off his boots. "I understand your need for caution, James, and share it of course. But I assure you no one will come looking for us here." 

"Alright." He began to remove his jacket.

"And," Thomas said, now barely dressed, back and shoulders made gold by the late afternoon light, "I thought it might be a more pleasant way to cool down than simply retiring indoors to change."

James paused in removing his shirt, thoroughly distracted by his nearly nude lover, pale skin lit up by the sun. "I agree."

Thomas had stripped down to nothing and jumped in before James had even finished undressing. Which meant that by the time he was down to his underclothes, he had a rather rapt audience. 

"Do hurry up James," Thomas said as he smoothed his dripping hair back from his face, watching James' progress with interest, "it's delightfully refreshing."

"Impatient," he muttered as he dropped his underclothes into the pile with the rest of his things. 

"What was that, dearest?" Thomas called across the water.

"I said you're impatient," James said, though he was smiling as he walked to the pool's edge. 

"Can you blame me?"

James only hummed in response and eased himself into the water. Thomas was right - it was heavenly against skin left sweaty and dusty from a long ride in the heat of a summer afternoon, though the silty mire underfoot at the bottom of the pool was a little disconcerting. He lifted himself to float on his back instead to escape it, eyes falling shut against the sun overhead. The water was cool and dark, still and smooth as resting on a pane of glass, the scent of damp earth and crushed grass heavy is his nose. So different to the sea; no shifting tide and changeable current, the rushing bursts of salt-blue against the shore, it's depths stretching on for unimaginable fathoms below. Where the ocean was loud in it's threats, the freshwater was quietly so - not safer, just more subtle.

On reflection, he should have known better than to close his eyes. 

"Agh, you wretched - " Thomas had chosen his moment of relaxation to pounce, momentarily pushing James under the water. He resurfaced, coughing and shaking his sodden hair from his eyes, to find Thomas watching him, lips pressed together in amusement.

"Oh, how could I possibly resist?" Thomas said, before darting away like a minnow.

But once he'd gotten over the suddenness of it, James reached out to retaliate, Thomas' water-slick limbs sliding under his grip. They tussled briefly, laughing and spluttering as each tried to best the other and gain the upper hand, swallowing far too much of the pond water than was probably healthy in the process. Eventually it petered out, their shoving, pulling and splashing at each other melting to something softer, caresses made to feel somehow both lighter and heavier with the weight of the water around their bodies. 

Thomas eased James back against the pool's edge, rock and plants poking at his back as Thomas' hands settled at the indent of his hips. Their foreheads came to rest together, swapping slow kisses with lips made cool by the water, lapping between their lazily entwined bodies. Thomas' hand rose up to his hair, as it often did in moments of passion, tangling and catching in the wet strands. But James' hands slid lower, both coming to rest flat at the small of Thomas' back, hooking his leg around the back of Thomas' to draw him in closer. Thomas laughed softly at his enthusiasm, breath warm on James' chilled skin.

"We'd best be getting out soon," he said, though the argument lost some of it's persuasiveness, accompanied as it was by his hand kneading at James' backside.

"Mm." James was unable to stop himself arching up closer to him. "Must we?" 

"Miranda will be worrying where we've gotten to."

"With all due respect my lord, I think your wife knows _exactly_ where we've gotten to."

"Alright, you win that one," Thomas said, both hands now resting on the length of James' thighs, loosely wrapped around his middle. "But as lovely as this is, I'm afraid it's getting too cold in this water for me to make as good a use of you as I'd like to."

It wasn't until then that James realised just how much time had passed. It was far from being dark yet, the sky still clear and blue above them, but the sun had slipped behind the trees, leaving the pool and most of the gardens draped in a cool, leafy shade. "Ah."

"Quite," Thomas smiled, dropped a damp kiss onto his shoulder. "If the weather stays as it is, we'll come back down tomorrow."

"I'll hold you to that," James said, and tilted his head up to steal on last kiss before they both pulled themselves reluctantly out of the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was fun. And just fyi, the next chapter will be significantly less safe for work, to make up the abrupt end of this one.  
> Also, [this](http://eatingmoonflowers.tumblr.com/post/161318280015/tregothnan-estate-garden-the-inspiration-for-this) is the garden that made me want to write this, if anyone's interested.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... upped the rating.

Thomas had been true to his word, and the following day the two of them had once again gone to swim in the pool at the bottom of the garden - though in all honesty a majority of their time in the water had not been spent swimming. But, as with their previous visit, they had ended up staying in the water longer than they'd intended, long shadows creeping across the lawn and settling deep under the trees, water cooling around them without their noticing. As such, Thomas had been left feeling rather chilled, and had excused himself not long after dinner to take a bath. James couldn't help but be concerned for him, though rationally he knew it was nothing serious. More than anything, it irked him that he wasn't even able to express his concerns as obviously as he'd have liked while they dined, what with the damned servants hovering about so and watching their every move. With the meal over and Thomas gone upstairs, James had been left agitated and short-tempered, despite Thomas' assurances he'd feel much better after a long, hot soak. Miranda, God bless her, was well enough tuned to his moods and their changeability that she'd known he would do nothing more than fidget and sulk if they stayed within the house, and suggested they talk a walk. 

And so the two of them walked the paths of the garden together, the sun now fallen low behind the trees, but still plenty enough light to see by. Their unhurried footsteps crunched measured on the gravel, neither saying anything of note, but he was content with the silence, grateful Miranda knew it, and simply let him ease his irritation by going through the motions of walking. She paused by a looming camellia bush, leaves almost black in the poor evening light, head tilted as she considered it's blooms for a moment before gently snapping one from where it grew. James' eyes lingered on the pale stretch of her bared neck, the glimmer of the emerald at her throat. She turned to face him with a brief tilt of a smile and held her arm out for him to take, the camellia light between the fingers of her free hand, its petals stark white in the grey blue gloom of dusk. 

"They say they are only perfect for a day," she said, holding the bloom aloft for him to see, petals curling and soft, but holding their form with near perfection. "Which would you choose, dear lieutenant - perfection for a day, or mediocrity for eternity?" She waited for his reply, chin lifted in challenge and pretty lips curved up in a way that suggested she already knew the answer. 

"If it were the second," James said after a measured silence, though the question didn't need any consideration, "I don't think I would be here." 

She laughed lightly and patted his arm wound through hers. "Very good, lieutenant. You're more romantic than most people would grant you, underneath your hardy seafaring exterior."

He couldn't help but laugh at that, an undignified snort of amusement. "I've been called many things in my time, my lady, but never before a romantic."

"Then those people do not know you," she said. "You may not show it so openly as most, but you are."

He raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her, but didn't argue further. He had never considered himself as such, but in truth, the two of them had awoken something in him that had previously lain dormant, something both softer and more unyielding than he'd expected of himself and his pragmatic nature.  
They reached a curve in the path, leading them down and through a long avenue of myrtle, orange-barked and thin limbed, leaves silvery and slight next to the hulking dark of the rhododendrons. With the evening growing darker, he couldn't quite make out the end of the avenue, branches and leaves fading to a grey green blur as it curved slightly to the left. He followed Miranda under the eaves. 

"Myrtus Communis," she said softly, reaching to take a leaf between her thumb and first finger, gently feeling it's surface but not plucking it from the plant. "Common Myrtle."

"Is that so?" James said, giving the plant a vague glance. He was no botanist. 

Miranda hummed in reply, still regarding the silvery leaves and tiny buds beginning to form. 

_"Merciful heaven,_  
_Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt_  
_Splits the unwedgeable and gnarlèd oak_  
_Than the soft myrtle; but man, proud man,_  
_Dress'd in a little brief authority,_  
_Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd—_  
_His glassy essence..."_

She trailed off, and smiled at him over her shoulder, eyes bright in the gloom. "Sacred to the goddesses Aphrodite and Demeter, and a symbol of true love, good luck, marriage and fidelity."

"I see." He wasn't entirely sure if she was trying to make a point, and if so, what point it was she was making.

"I insisted on having a sprig of it in my wedding bouquet," she said, letting go of the leaf and taking his hand, her fingers left fragrant from it's touch as she twined them with his, "and it has not yet let me down. I trust you'll agree lieutenant, that mine and Thomas' marriage is a happy one." 

Though it may not have seemed like it to an outsider, there was no denying it was true from where James stood - he'd never known a more loving or loyal couple than Thomas and Miranda Hamilton. "Happier than any other I've encountered."

"Good." She led him through the darkening boughs of myrtle to what he assumed was a folly waiting at the end of it; a stone dome about the height of a man. Though when they came around to the other side it was cut clean away, a hollow half-dome with a stone bench under its arch. They sat, the granite cold even through his clothes, his arm around Miranda and her head tucked under his chin. They shared a kiss, a quiet and soft thing, far from the impatient, playful kisses she often bestowed on him, but just as lovely. He was grateful for the warmth of her, keeping the cold stone at bay, the rustle of silk as she shifted closer. The evening air smelt of crushed grass and damp earth, the faint tang of the myrtle and sweetness of Miranda's perfume. 

"I love you both," she said on a sigh, tucked neatly back under his chin where he was unable to see her face, "he loves both you and I. I know that you love him, and I know that you cannot bring yourself to say it, for whatever reason of your own."

"...I know he does." He had heard Thomas admit it numerous times - mumbled into his neck just before they fell asleep, gasping as James took him in hand and kissed along his neck, whispered before James was whisked away out of the Hamilton's London house and back to his own meagre lodgings for the night. Expression seemed to come easily to Thomas, but for James, it was not so simple to find the words. He had never loved, before the two of them, and perhaps, because of that, they deserved to hear it.

"He says that he does not need to hear you say it to know it's truth, and I believe him. But I think that perhaps you need to say it. For yourself though, and not for him nor me."

That gave him pause. Miranda, and her husband for that matter, had a way of tripping him up by saying something he had not expected to hear, and it appeared that evening was no exception. He said nothing more, but she seemed to accept his silence for what it was - a promise to properly consider her advice.

 

~

 

He should have known better, really, than to have stayed so long in the pond; it's waters cooling with more speed than he'd realised. But how could he have wished to leave their depths, when they also held James, the sweetest temptation Thomas had ever known? The water suited the lieutenant - which should have been no surprise - made his skin paler and the grouping of freckles across his nose darker, red hair more vibrant against the dull grey greens. However strong the temptation, though, it was wrong of him to use James as an excuse for not getting out of the water sooner; it had left him feeling thoroughly chilled and out of sorts as he forced himself to eat something at dinner. Miranda had clearly been concerned for him, though she still seemed to find amusement in the situation all the same. James though, proved to be only the former. Had he not been feeling so off, he might have found the scowl the lieutenant was directing at the silverware entertaining. Though Thomas didn't care to see him at all distressed by any means, his obvious worry for him was rather touching. 

Though the hot bath he'd been stewing in was delightful, Thomas found himself growing bored of the inaction rather quickly, fingers tapping in mild agitation against the lip of the tub, absently watching the fire burning lower in the grate. Patience was not always a virtue that came easily to him. Once he'd warmed up enough to feel more himself again - skin no longer cool and clammy, muscles eased out of their odd, cold tenseness, head cleared - he clambered out of the water and hastily dried himself off, shrugging into the dressing gown left by the servant attending him. He'd barely tied the belt when there came a soft knock at the door. Miranda would have simply let herself in, and any servant would have announced themselves out loud, or at the very least knocked more firmly. That left one person who it could be.

"Come," he said, smiling already.

James did as bid and let himself into the bedchamber, eyes not leaving Thomas' face as he softly pulled the door shut behind him. His mouth was taut and turned down unhappily, brow still creased with concern. He was only partly dressed; coat, neck cloth, waist coat all gone, presumably hastily thrown into James' own room on the way to Thomas'.

"No one saw me," he said, to assuage the concerns he must have imagined Thomas would have about him creeping about half dressed in a house full of servants. Though it was perhaps a little foolish of him to be so flippant, Thomas had no such concerns - they were James own worries he was trying to put to rest. He didn't wait for an answer before continuing. "Are you alright?"

Thomas couldn't help but laugh at the scrutiny James was looking at him with, as though searching out any sign of illness. "Yes, yes I'm quite alright. Even better, now."

"Are you certain?" James strode closer, hand hovering between them as if to somehow assist should Thomas need him to. "You really did look - "

"I'm certain," Thomas said, and took James' hand to press a kiss to his knuckles, "and flattered that you seem quite so worried about me. You needn't be though, a hot bath did me the world of good."

"I - " James hesitated, mouth snapping shut, unsure what to do with all the agitation he'd built up that seemed was no longer needed. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Has Miranda retired?"

James blinked at him before answering, eyes narrowed as if he still couldn't quite decide if Thomas was telling the truth about feeling better. "Yes. She says all this country air is tiring her out."

"I see." A fabrication Thomas saw for what it was - an excuse to let James put his worries about Thomas' health to rest.

"She said she trusted me to see to your wellbeing."

Thomas hummed and let go of James' hand, moving across the room to pull the curtains shut. It was almost dark outside, so he felt no guilt over shutting out the last of the sun, the room lit now only by the fire and the single lamp on his desk. With no more preamble or further comment, he moved back over to where he'd left James standing in the middle of the room and pulled him into a kiss - he didn't think James could take any more teasing. 

His lieutenant was still tense under Thomas' hands despite his assurances he was fine, shoulders pulled back smartly and muscles tight. Well, Thomas would soon see to that. He kissed him deeper, relishing the shift of James' mouth under his as he moved to accommodate it. His hand moved up to the side of James' face, palm over the slight roughness of stubble that he could never see, but could always feel across his cheek by the end of the day. The other hand he splayed across the small of James' back, warm through the thin shirt. James always seemed to run hot, where Thomas ran cold. It should have been no surprise, really, that the cold water had affected him so. He walked them backwards until he tipped back onto the bed, James pulled along by the motion and landing half on top of him. Their noses touched. Thomas' dressing gown had fallen slightly open with their jostling, and James took the chance to slide his hand up Thomas' thigh without pause, parting the robe further still. It was then he hesitated, frowning, hand nearing the crease of Thomas' hip and fingertips just resting on his backside, eyes straying from his bared leg to where the robe was gaping at his chest, and managed to gather his thoughts enough to ask - 

"Are you certain you're feeling well now? I'd hate for you to feel obligated - "

Thomas laughed again, in joy rather than mockery, that this darling man could care about him so much. "I'm never better than when you're in my bed, my dear."

"Thomas, please - "

"I'm being entirely serious," he craned up to press a soft kiss to James' cheek. "And you could never be an obligation James, if anything it's me who - "

"I love you."

 _Oh._ He knew James loved him, of course he did, but to actually hear the words pass his lips was something else altogether. Thomas was an orator after all, and held great belief in the power of the right words applied at the right time. Though he never could have guessed how much hearing James speak those ones in particular would affect him until he heard them. He realised then that he'd been silent too long and James was watching him carefully, face tight, even though Thomas had told James he loved him a hundred times over and thought it to himself a hundred times again, and surely he couldn't doubt it. This time though, his admission would be spoken in reply to James', and meant all the more for it. He smiled at the anxious look on James' face and kissed him, once, soft and quick. 

"I love you." 

James all but leapt at him then, kisses hard and sharp and each gleefully giving as good as they got. Thomas allowed himself to be pushed further back into the mess of slippery silk cushions and blankets and _oh,_ but he loved the feeling of James' weight pinning him onto the bed. Distracted as he was, Thomas barely noticed when James pushed the dressing gown aside to palm at his backside again, pressing him down and pulling him up towards him simultaneously, his biting kisses trailing lower to Thomas' exposed chest, a particularly hard nip bringing Thomas back to himself enough to realise that James was wearing far too much clothing. 

"Why aren't you undressed?" he said more to himself than anything, and gently pushed back a grinning, pink-faced James so he could pull the remainder of the other man's clothes off as quickly as he could - there would be other times for savouring each other, this was not one of them.

Then James was nude and lying back on the sheets. Thomas' robe had fallen open entirely by that point and was as good as useless, but he didn't take it off, letting it hang open and slide from his shoulder as he moved to kiss as much of James as he could. He kissed the bridge of his nose, across his broad shoulders and chest, dropping scattered kisses to his belly and past his navel, pressed his lips and tongue to the jut of his hipbone, pointedly avoided James' cock, and moved further down to his lovely freckled thighs, thick and heavy and skin so pale there he could trace the blue veins beneath it. He may have bitten at him a little in his enthusiasm, and James practically _growled,_ and Thomas knew then exactly how he wanted to bed him that night. 

He sat up, and with soft touches urged James to change positions, with Thomas now lying back against the pillows. Taking hold of James' wrist to draw him closer, Thomas slowly dragged James a top him, further up his body, seeing James flush as he realised Thomas' intentions for him, a delightful rosy pink across his cheeks and the tops of his ears, spilling down his neck and chest. Thomas had pulled his hair loose in their fumblings and it hung forward over James' shoulder as he looked down at him, eyes wide and glazed and lips parted.

"Thomas, are you - "

"Mm. Come here."

As lovely a sight as it made, it was one Thomas had to relinquish as he finally manoeuvred James to where he wanted him, a knee pressing into the mattress each side of Thomas' head as he rested astride his face. He heard James grunt at the feel of Thomas' hot breath on him, felt him tense at the first press of his lips. Thomas moved his hands up to curl around James' thighs as best he could, felt the flutter of muscle underneath his grip as he held him still. 

"Fuck, _Thomas."_

The course language and eager twitching of James above him effectively ended any patience Thomas might have had, and he started to kiss and lick more firmly at James' entrance, one hand unable to resist moving from where it rested on James' leg to knead at his rear instead, the image of soft flesh, freckled even there, playing on his mind. James grew louder, high and bitten off keens he was too self conscious to let out alternating with frustrated rumbles as Thomas worked at him.

He lost himself in the touches, the stretch and curl of his tongue and his fingers pressing into firm flesh. Before long, he could feel James tensing, pushing himself down onto Thomas' mouth, the creak of the bed frame as he gripped the headboard. If he knew James at all, by now the other hand would have slipped down to pull at his cock, quick and relentless. Knowing James was drawing close, Thomas, with slight reluctance, let go of James' backside to take his own cock in hand. The sounds James was making and the knowledge that Thomas was the one who had wrung them from him, the feel of him against his tongue and the heaviness of his body and his own clever if temporarily clumsy fingers on himself made Thomas finish first, leaving him panting hard and open mouthed against James' skin. James followed moments after, stilling and drawn tight above him, muscles in his legs jumping with the effort of keeping himself upright.

Before Thomas even had the time to gather his thoughts, let alone reflect on them, James had lifted himself off and flopped down heavily beside him, pulling him in for gasping, messy, breathless kisses, Thomas' hand coming up to curl in a fistful of his tousled hair. They were both sheened with sweat, boneless in satiation, Thomas' mouth and chin weak and slick as James lazily nipped at him. If there were any greater pleasure on the earth, Thomas didn't care to seek it. 

James was already asleep and Thomas nearly so when he felt a shift in the weather outside. The wind was getting up, ushering in more rain and grey cloud no doubt, sweeping the sunshine away, branches lifting and leaves rustling to each other in the dark outside the house. They'd left the fire to burn out, as they'd no longer needed the light and they were plenty warm enough draped over each other and under the blankets, air thick and stuffy in the dim blue of the bedroom. Would they ever spend time together in a such a place again, where the shifting of trees and the old stillness of the earth replaced the sounds of shouting and carriages in the streets, the rough slap of water at the dockside. The three of them were bound again for London soon, then James back off to sea, and after that who could say. He breathed deep, settled himself further into the pillows. James' skin smelt of salt. 

 

~

 

The sky was grey on the morning they set off for London again, the house looking just as forbidding from the windows of the carriage as it had the day they'd arrived. Miranda was warm against his side as she idly played with his fingers, Thomas watching them from the seat opposite. James still held no particularly good opinion on the house itself, but the scattering of memories made in it and it's grounds - Miranda kissing him under the myrtle boughs, Thomas made gold as they swam in the evening sun, the three of them breathless and undone as they dashed their horses about the countryside - were fond ones, ones he would surely pick up and turn over and re-examine when they were separated by hundreds of miles of ocean.

"And was I right?" said Thomas, as though James' thoughts were written plain across his face. Whether they were written plain or not, he always seemed able to decipher them anyway. "Now we are leaving, do you think upon my gardens with a kinder eye?"

"Yes, my lord," James admitted, "though perhaps my fondness stems from who and what was in them, rather than the gardens themselves."

Miranda seemed delighted by this remark, laughed and stretched her neck to kiss his cheek, Thomas smiling warmly at the both of them.

While James didn't particularly enjoy long journeys cramped inside a carriage, he found himself hoping that the one before him now lasted as long as possible, eking out the precious few hours he had left before they reached London, and he'd have to part ways from the two of them again. But he would always have this, even when there was nothing but water for miles, he would hold them in his head and his heart, sun-dappled and evergreen and perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote Miranda uses is from Shakespeare's Measure for Measure. There were a lot of other myrtle based quotes I wanted to use, but I couldn't because they were all written later on. Though I still think this one fits pretty good. 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


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